


Do Not Forsake Me, Oh My Darling

by hopeless_eccentric



Series: Junoverse Cowboy AU [4]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Rita (Penumbra Podcast), Bandit Peter Nureyev, Canon Non-Binary Character, Cowboy AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epistolary, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I promise there's a happy ending, Love Letters, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Other, Sheriff Juno Steel, Stay safe y'all, Suicide Attempt, it's left pretty damn vague but i thought it was important to tag, no it isn't green, not super super blantant but at times jeezy creezy check the tags, the Ruby 7 is a horse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25603081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: (Former) Sheriff Juno Steel and the mysterious horse bandit who ran off with his heart have quite the storied past with one another. Between letters sent, letters burnt, and letters unread, many things unsaid were left in writing.This will be updating daily and will be a continuation of the Junoverse Cowboy AU series. You don't have to read all of it to understand the contents of the fic, and if you want to catch up as you go, I'll add which fics you'll need for context in the notes of each chapter!!
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: Junoverse Cowboy AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823821
Comments: 40
Kudos: 74





	1. Letters Sent (Part One)

**Author's Note:**

> The only necessary context for this one is High Noon Over Hyperion!! Title from Ballad of High Noon
> 
> Content warning: alcohol as a coping mechanism, self-destructive behavior, mentions of fever/illness, mentions of hallucination/fever dreams, mentions of injury, mentioned canon-typical violence, mentioned theft

My dearest, Sheriff, 

I hope this letter finds you in good health. While I fear I must omit certain details about myself, notably any references to a name, I doubt that should be any trouble for a brilliant lady such as yourself. All that aside, I suppose the tone of this letter will speak for itself. 

I further hope this will be the first of many letters, which you might have noticed was addressed to the sheriff’s office specifically. If a home address were to be sent in a returning letter, I would gladly direct all my future notes there. For the meantime, I fear I must waste the first few inches of paper under the guise of professionalism. 

I suspect I am far enough to speak my heart. 

I have thought of your touch every moment since I first knew it. The ghosts of your hands on my coat haunt me relentlessly, like a cologne that refuses to part from a shirt collar. 

I feel I have known you a thousand years in the few hours we spoke, though I cannot deny I yearn for details. I wish to know how such a lovely lady spends his every waking moment. I wish to know what he looks like waking up on a lazy morning or half-shadowed by an oncoming night. I wish to see what he looks like when lost in a good book or looking into the face of a loved one. 

Until the return I promised, however, simple questions must suffice. How are you faring in grieving my absence? How is your beloved city? 

I hate to have forsaken you so, my darling, though I’m afraid circumstance has drawn us apart. Know two things for certain. First, our separation is my every waking sorrow. Second, I intend to kill that sorrow soon. 

Take care of yourself until then, my love. 

X. 

X., 

It’s good to hear from you. I’m glad you’re safe, alive, and so far as I can tell, uninjured. Try to keep it that way, okay? I’m busy enough taking care of a city. I’d hate to have to ride over to wherever you are just to hold your hand and tell you it’s all gonna be alright. Statistically, it probably won’t. 

I can’t tell you how I look waking up or looking at a loved one. I don’t sleep in late unless I’ve got a hangover, and I doubt that’s half as pretty as you think it is. I also haven’t had a loved one to look at in a while. 

As far as mourning your absence goes, I’ve worn black for two weeks straight and openly wept at the sight of any couples, you filthy heartbreaker. 

When I’m not busy sobbing an eye out over a handsome son of a bitch I met once, I’ve been going after other bandits. Don’t take it the wrong way. I’m just clearing out your competition. 

There was a woman a couple weeks ago with enough stolen art to fill a museum. I don’t even know where the hell she got it. Probably had half the paintings in the state in just that little house. Not particularly interesting, just kind of weird. 

I’m not exactly the wooing type, so I hope you enjoy being utterly thrilled by my mediocre escapades. Maybe it’ll even help you evading sheriffs with a bigger mean streak than me. Most of them aren’t stupid enough to let a bandit go just because he’s got the sweetest smile this side of the Mississippi. 

Otherwise, there aren’t too many interesting cases going on at the moment. Feel free to tie me to a train track sometime if you get bored. I could use the excitement. 

I’ll leave you my home address on the back. 

Stay safe, 

Sheriff Juno Steel 

My dear, 

I’m glad to hear you are as petulant as ever. It’s a comfort to know when I return, I will be greeted by the same lady I left behind. 

Do not worry about entertaining me with your letters. Your words are enough to keep me company, whether you be regaling me with tales of adventure or instructing me on how to build a table. I’ve read over your last letter a few dozen times, and by the time this note arrives, I will have read it a few dozen more. I’m not too proud to pretend I didn’t miss you. 

As for my misadventures, I’m unsure how much I can detail in letters, just in case you ever change your mind about our truce. However, I assume since I am now writing to your home address, I can consider this off the record. 

If not, feel free to interpret my words as a convoluted metaphor. 

To add insult to Brock Engstrom’s injury, I have spent the last few weeks plotting to hold up a certain train of his. Apparently it’s meant to be unrobbable, just like how Ruby was meant to be unstealable. I have a sneaking suspicion Engstrom might be exaggerating. 

On Friday, the twenty third, do not take any train on the Utgard rail line unless you are prepared to jump off of it with me. Treat this as an anonymous tip. 

I’ve been working on a new persona for the heist. How do you feel about the name Duke Rose? He’s an established gambler who’s managed to secure a round of poker in Engstrom’s personal car.

I don’t have many details of his life set in stone, however. I know for certain he is married, yet childless. His wife’s name is Dahlia. They don’t see one another often, as their respective lines of work often have them in different places, though he writes to him often and aches in his absence. 

Perhaps you could be of some assistance in filling in the rest of the details. 

Yours in devotion, 

Duke Rose. 

My ‘dearest’ Duke Rose, 

I’ve never been too much of a writer myself, but I think I might be able to help. I’m sending this letter with a friend of mine with a fast horse, just so you have a little extra time to study. 

It might be a little easier if you ask yourself what kind of person falls in love with Duke Rose. Knowing what I know about this guy, maybe somebody who collects bad art and can barely gamble, even though Duke’s tried time and time again to teach him. Maybe he can cook pretty well, but always cooks better when he’s got someone to cook for. 

I like to think this Dahlia character hasn’t seen his husband in a bit, but when Duke comes home, he’ll be waiting for him with a half-decent meal and a shuffled deck of cards. Just because Dahlia doesn’t gamble well doesn’t mean he’s no good at anything else. He’s good at slap jack and even half-decent at rummy, but he can’t win solitaire to save his life. 

Dahlia might not be a good gambler, but maybe Duke’s the kind of person it wouldn’t matter to. It might be a sappy thought, but maybe he’d be so damn distracted looking at his wife after so long apart that Dahlia might swoop in and win. Not often. Maybe only once or twice. But I don’t think he’d ever let Duke forget it. 

Hope that helps at all. Doesn’t look like Duke’s good luck charm is going to come, unfortunately. He’s busy drinking off a minor injury. 

I’ll write to you again if anything drastic happens. 

Yours, 

“Dahlia Rose.” 

My dearest, Dahlia, 

I won’t bore you with details, but I will say that Brock Engstrom is now down both a significant sum of money and a horse. It seems Duke will finally be able to buy his wife a new suit. On an unrelated note, might you be able to give me the address of your tailor? 

Your imagining of Dahlia was the finishing touch I never knew I needed. 

I knew Duke Rose needed something else to flesh out the character, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. It didn’t click that he might be one of those gentlemen whose entire world revolves around his spouse until I read your suggestions. 

What cruel irony that my heart was stolen by a sheriff. If you ever find yourself behind bars for such a heinous crime, I am close confidants with a bandit who may just be able to free you. 

As much as I would love to wax poetic about Duke Rose’s exploits until I run out of paper, I’ve found much more pressing matters at hand. In your last letter, which I will admit to having read many times, you mentioned an injury you were attempting to drink off. 

I am assuming you took note of my change in address. My current residence is in a hotel on the outskirts of Cerberus, just a brief ride from Hyperion. Even briefer on Ruby. If you require my company, I will be there in a moment’s notice. 

Juno, I have had my share of injuries in my lifetime. Alcohol only worsens blood loss, even though it might numb the pain for some short while. Perhaps, if you are able, seek a painkiller from a doctor.

If not, try to stay off your feet as much as possible. Knowing you, you’re charging into your next beating as I write these very words, but dear Lord, be careful. I don’t know what I would do without your letters to pass the time and keep me company. 

My dear, my heartache at your absence has become constant. I suppose a man can accustom himself to any suffering over a long enough period of time, but the emptiness of my bed stings like an ever-present thorn in my side. This longing only worsens at the thought of your injury. 

If not for your own sake, stay safe for mine. 

With love, 

P.N. 

Honey, 

I’m not going to lie to you. I’m a little bit drunk and I think I might be running some sort of fever. This letter’s going out from work, but keep sending all the other ones like usual. 

Sorry I didn’t tell you more about that last injury. I had a weird case a few weeks ago, and I remember less than I should. Probably the painkillers the doc put me on. I think I got the good stuff, too. Doc owed me a favor after that case, anyway. 

Someone was after an expensive piece of medication the town doctor was studying. Long story really, really short because I’m tired as hell but I don’t wanna keep you waiting, they were bad news. Killed somebody trying to get to it. So when they got me in a corner, I had the genius idea to drink the whole bottle. 

Woke up half a week later to an old friend of mine looking just about as pissed as I’ve ever seen her and a small herd of deputies checking to see if I was dead yet. I think you and that friend would get along. She’s fun when she’s not threatening to hug me to death, though I can’t pretend I really mind that. 

If I hadn’t been passing out when the guy shot at me, I’d probably be dead. Took a graze to the arm, but that’s it. No need to order me a gravestone just yet. Maybe reserve me a lot or something, though. Can’t count your chickens. 

You’re right to suspect I’m not taking time off work. I’m not. Thankfully, I keep some whiskey underneath a floorboard in case anything acts up. My stomach hates it, but my arm loves the stuff. I’m not bleeding anymore, so you don’t have to worry. 

I’m glad Duke Rose got his wad of cash. Hopefully he’s going to give it all to some orphanage or something. Hope he comes back home to Dahlia too. 

I miss you so goddamn much, Nureyev. I hope that’s how you spell it. I’ve never seen it written down. I miss you so much it makes me wanna throw my star in the fire and watch it melt.

I shouldn’t be this much of a mess over it all. I met you once and we talked for a few hours, but I don’t think there’s an amount of whiskey that could make me forget you. I’ve tried. 

I don’t know if I’m drunk or a romantic. Either way, I’m pretty sure it’s your fault. 

Love, 

Juno 

P.S. I left my tailor’s information on the back of this page. 

My dear Juno, 

I am unsure whether this letter will arrive before I do. I’ve given the courier a hefty bribe, though I am not sure how fast their top speed is. Regardless, if it truly was money wasted, it won’t have been for nothing. I am more than willing to waste money on you, my dear. 

Juno, when I say this, I mean it as much as I can mean anything. Stay home. Take a few days off. Hyperion will not crumble if you lay in bed a day or two longer. You are clearly unwell, mentally and physically, and the two are likely feeding off each other. 

As much as it pains me to be without you, it pains me more to know my letters have not found you in good health. I want nothing more than that reunion I promised you. In some way, shape, or form, I want to spend a long and peaceful life with you. And if peace means boredom, I will gladly live the rest of my life bored if that means living it at your side. 

However, it is very difficult to live any kind of life at all when you endanger yourself like this. 

It will be night by the time I’m able to reach Hyperion. Unfortunately, I had business to clean up before I could leave. Please hang on until I get there. I could not leave it unaddressed. 

I know it will take stronger words than these to convince you to take a break, but I will try my best. We both know you love this town and feel a responsibility to it. As such, it is your civic duty to ensure its protector is healthy, safe, and able to do his job. 

Please, please be safe upon my arrival. 

With love, 

Peter Nureyev


	2. Letters Sent (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has references to events in High Noon Over Hyperion and Juno Steel and the Bandit of Brahma, just a heads up!!
> 
> Content warnings: injury, implied/foreshadowed betrayal, mentions of scars, allusions to scoodlypooping, referenced/implied shitty parenting, theft, alcohol as an unhealthy coping mechanism, fever, illness, fever dreams, mentions of self-destructive behavior, cat throwing

Juno, 

I’m sorry to say you will wake to an empty bed. I fear one of your deputies may have recognized me without my usual efforts put into an alias, and it is likely in my best interest to leave before anyone comes knocking. 

Don’t worry about coming after me, for I will be long gone by the time you wake. Take a few extra hours to sleep in the morning. I’ve taken the liberty of closing all the windows to help with noise. 

I wish I could stay to see what you look like when you’re barely awake. I’m no chef, but perhaps I could help you make coffee and see how your hair lays when mussed up by sleep. I’d bet everything I own it’s beautiful. 

In a kinder world, I will see these little blessings every morning. I doubt I will take a moment for granted when we finally get our happy ending. 

I don’t know how much of last night you will remember. You were asleep and feverish at your desk when I found you. I had to wake a few neighbors, unfortunately, but I managed to return you to the safety of your own bed without much fanfare. 

I’ve checked your wound and it’s not infected. I suspect you just overworked yourself and fell ill. Thankfully, it seems you’ve slept off most of your fever by now. I’m just relieved it took this little time. You were worryingly delirious. 

I won’t repeat what you told me in writing. If you wish to confess your love for me some other time, I would rather you do it when coherent and healthy. 

I also believe you spent some short amount of time unsure whether I was myself or who I can only assume is your deceased brother. I’m afraid that for fear of distressing you and of raising your temperature even higher, I did not hold you last night. 

How I wish I could have. 

For the time being, let yourself heal. I doubt this is more than an escalated common cold, but one can never be too careful. Take some time for yourself, and maybe, write me an extra letter or two to keep me informed of your condition. 

My next intended address will be listed on the back of this letter. 

Love, 

Peter Nureyev 

P.S. I took the liberty of speaking with the tailor while you slept. I’m sure you will look lovely in pink, my dear. Enjoy this gift from Duke to Dahlia. 

Peter, 

Thanks for that. Will write something nicer when more awake. Saw your note. Planning on taking a lot more sick days now. Just thought you should know I’m okay. 

Yours, 

Juno

Nureyev, 

I owe you one for that. Or at least you could say we’re even. I don’t try to keep track of favors, but I’d say saving your neck was a pretty big one, and it sure wasn’t one I was expecting you to repay so quickly. 

This is all a long way of saying thank you, and I’m sorry you had to do that for me. 

I’ll admit that was kinda stupid. Haven’t been in a great place lately and let things slip. I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a great place. Hyperion doesn’t even have gravel roads. 

You get my point. 

I’ve had a few weird cases that I’ve bombed lately, even if I’ve technically solved them. A few casualties that I feel like I should’ve been able to prevent. I’m sure you understand why I didn’t exactly want to leave my desk. 

I don’t want to waste half this page on the story, so I’ll have to tell you later, but I threw a cat out a window. That’s the kind of weird I’ve been dealing with. 

God, you would’ve laughed your ass off at that. 

You always surprise me a little when you laugh. It just doesn’t look like a sound someone like you would be able to make. Too imposing and...whatever. But it’s nice. It’s like I’ve earned a little peek behind your mask, and let me tell you, I like what I see every single time. 

My fever let up by the time I saw the letter you left. I assume you knew I got your note from the address I’m writing to. I just wanted you to know for sure that I took your advice and took about half a week off. 

The deputies came looking after a few days, probably checking to see if I dropped dead yet. You were right to assume they were suspicious of you. They asked who the hell was breaking into the sheriff’s office in the dead of night and dragging me out, so I told them a couple half-truths and they let me be. 

Don’t worry though. I said I’ve been courting a gentleman who travels for work and he was concerned by my last letter. 

Are we courting? I guess that’s the right word for when two people who’ve already kissed send letters back and forth and yearn their asses off for one another. If we’re going to continue, I might want some confirmation from my gentleman friend before I go around telling my hoard of suitors that I’ve got a man. 

By the way, I got the suit. I haven’t had an excuse to wear it out yet, but it fits perfectly. Maybe I’ll have to take you out for a nice dinner when you visit again. 

Yours if you’ll have me, 

Juno

My beloved Juno, 

I won’t lie to you and say I didn’t laugh upon reading about your experience with feline projectiles. If I knew you enjoyed my laughter that much, I would have informed you of it far more frequently. I’m still fighting it back as I write, and it’s making penmanship very difficult, you brute. 

It’s a relief to hear you’re doing well. I loathed forsaking you with such short notice, especially just after our long awaited reunion. I dream of a day when we might live without parting, though I fear it may not come for some time. Our current paths are cruelly divergent. However, I am willing to wait for any amount of time if it means having your company when all is said and done. 

I’m honored to know your deputies think us partners. I suppose it’s only fair, after I so blatantly used you as a character point for Duke Rose. I apologize if I am overstepping boundaries to say this, but I must be truthful. I was greatly excited at the mere thought of being married to you, even if it was just as the Duke to your Dahlia. 

We have acted in the manner of partners for quite some time now. I don’t think I could forget the feeling of your brow beneath my lips if I wanted to. Your presence is a miracle that refuses to leave my every waking thought. 

However, if it is confirmation you search for, then it is confirmation I will provide. I would very much like to court you, if you will have my advances. 

Love, 

(For now) Rex Glass

P. S. How I wish I could sign my love to you under my own name!

Nureyev, 

I never thought I’d court another person ever again, let alone a career criminal. It’s funny what things you’re willing to put up with if you like someone enough. 

When I first saw you in that cell, I knew you were trouble. I knew you were trying to seduce me and do whatever the hell you had to just to get out, but by God, I think there was some stupid part of me that didn’t care. 

I thought letting you go was the stupidest decision I’d ever made. Turns out it was a pretty damn good one. 

Work’s been hell. Gives me half a mind to turn my star in and just take off into the desert. I’m not exactly big on the new mayor though, so I couldn’t leave this place if I wanted to. Somebody’s gotta stand up for the little guy. This Mayor O’Flaherty guy was one of the rich assholes on my radar for years, but he never openly did anything I could bag him for. 

He doesn’t seem half bad, and he certainly promises a lot of good stuff, but he hasn’t done anything to win me over. He’s tried, but I don’t trust a businessman as far as I can throw him, and my arm’s still sore. 

Your letters are just about all that keeps me going, even on days when I feel like it’s all hopeless. I’m just swimming in circles while the body count rises and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it. Some days, I even wonder what the hell I’m doing courting someone like you, or what the hell you’re doing wasting your time on me. 

Swallowing the whole ‘dating a thief’ thing is getting easier. A lot of law abiding citizens are much worse people than you. 

Yours, 

Sheriff Steel

To my better half, 

I will make an attempt to send my letters with greater frequency. I have seldom had a moment to myself as of late, for a relative of mine in Brahma was recently injured by law enforcement. All is well, though I am staying here for some time until I know he is close to full recovery. The injuries all seem minor, but one can never be too careful. 

I won’t dance around the fact that I have been exhausted as of late. Caring for an injured loved one is quite the ordeal. If I am ever injured in your presence, do yourself a favor and don’t let me make you stay at my side. 

You could write anything to me in your letters and I would treasure it. I keep the ones you have previously sent folded in the pocket of my coat, though unfortunately, I had to take the pains of redacting any mentions of my name. It’s a shame. I love the way it looks in your handwriting.

On lonely nights, which is to say, most of them, I take the letters out and read them over and over again, just to try to remember exactly what your voice sounds like. What a pity that I have only heard it for such a short time! Your lips work wonders, my love, whether in words or on my own. I am blessed to have experienced both. 

It has been so long since I have heard your voice. I suppose I will have to fall in love with your penmanship instead. I love that you curl your letter y and g when you write. I love that when you are clearly tired, you will sometimes put an extra curve in your letter m and muddy the appearance of a word. 

I worry my time with you is short. My father appears to be stirring, and he will likely ask questions if he sees the contents of my letter. We are not as close as we used to be, and I doubt he will approve of such a match as you and I. 

I’ve wasted enough of my life clamoring for his approval, but I don’t wish to actively start conflict with an injured man. 

May this letter bring you as much comfort as the last. I wish I could give you comfort in the form of a back rub or your hand in mine, but I’m afraid this will have to suffice. I don’t think words are nearly as powerful as gestures, let alone words pieced together with such little time or notice. When we meet again, I hope to make up for lost time. 

Love, 

(For now) Peter Ransom

P.S. I am writing this at a much later hour. Sleep has evaded me, knowing that I have written to you without including the following statement. My heart does not beat and my head does not spin in this manner for every lovely lady I meet. Call me a fool, but I think I may have fallen in love with you. 

Peter, 

I’m avoiding your name just in case. I don’t know what precautions you’ll want or need when this letter gets to you, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Maybe I’ve just been on edge lately, but you’re about the last person I’d want to get hurt. 

I hope your father has a speedy recovery, either for his sake or yours. You don’t sound like you want to be there for longer than you have to be. 

I wish I could return your poetry with schmaltz of my own, but prose has never been my forte. Nothing particularly romantic’s been going on over here, either. I made a nice dinner for an old friend’s birthday, and she said the suit was ‘dashing.’ She just about melted when I told her I was courting the gentleman who bought it for me. 

Come to think of it, I just about melted too. It’s nice to say that aloud. Not exactly something I’d talk about around the office. They’re all unmarried, married with kids, or assholes. Mostly assholes. It doesn’t feel right to bring something that nice up in a place like that. When they ask why I’m not scowling as much as usual, I just say I’m seeing someone. 

It’s nice. Even though it’s just in letters, it’s really, really nice. Even though we’re miles apart and on opposite sides of the law, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. 

I’m sorry if my letters come back a little slower than usual. I found a lead on my investigation into the mayor, and it’s weird as all hell. Personal, too. Turns out he was old friends with dear old murderous ma. 

That’s enough words wasted on her. 

I’m close to a breakthrough. I know that much. I’ll keep you updated if I find anything else out before I see you again. 

Before I leave you, don’t think I didn’t notice that little proposition of yours. I never took you as the untoward type, especially in the sensitive company of a lady such as myself. I will admit, it’s good to know I’m courting a gentleman who knows how to make a lady blush. 

So long as I’m reading what I think I’m reading, it’s getting a lot colder. Not really the season you’d want to have an empty bed in. I wouldn’t say no to that back rub either. Work doesn’t do much to make me less tense.

That’s a very long way of saying that it’d be good. I think it’ll be really nice. 

Yours, 

Juno Steel

P.S. If you’re a fool, I guess that makes two of us. 

My love, 

I’m writing this letter after a long journey, so unfortunately, my coherency may be lacking. Do not fear for my health, however. I am uninjured and without malady. It just seems thoughts of you have driven sleep away. 

This evening has been a lonely one. This inn room is barely big enough for a single individual, but I cannot help but imagine what you would feel like in bed at my side. 

Interpret that with as much chastity as you see fit. 

I have kissed you but twice and held you even fewer times, though I yearn for your touch like a dying man yearns for a few more moments in the waking world. I want to know what your arms feel like around me and what your hands feel like on my face and back and elsewhere. 

I miss you like a starving man misses food. I am a bird with a broken wing without you, my love. 

I was intending to keep my visit a surprise. After all, I have proven very adept at keeping secrets. However, it seems you have slackened my defenses and loosened my tongue. I am unintelligent around you, my dearest, and in the best possible way. Never before have I been so happy to be so thoroughly stunned by another person, let alone a lady of the law. 

You might notice the address from which I write is that of the Hyperion Inn. Meet me on Main Street tomorrow morning. It has been so very long since Duke Rose has seen his Dahlia. 

Yours devotedly, 

Peter Nureyev

Juno,

It seems I am in the business of leaving you notes while you are elsewhere. The painkillers have taken their toll on me, and I’m afraid I am not entirely of sound mind. However, I have some grasp of clarity that I thought I might take advantage of. As such, I am writing to you. 

I wish I could spend this moment with you, but you said you had left to buy us dinner. How I wish I could have had my first proper dinner with you at an upscale restaurant. I’d foot the bill and buy us both wine, unless you protested enough that I conceded and let you pay for one or the other. Perhaps you might even wear that suit of yours. 

This room is small and this bed is even smaller, but they are both achingly empty without you at my side. I hate to have you doting over me, no matter how willing you seem. I enjoy the company, but I do feel guilty for keeping you here. 

Do not take this as my begging for your continued presence, but I must be honest with you. Painkillers can only do so much to numb my injury, especially as they fade. At times, your presence is my only respite. I can lose myself in the curve of your cheek or the way your jaw sets when you’re troubled by something. I could drown in your eyes, my love, and I would die smiling. 

I have been blessed to know what you look like waking up and fighting back sleep for fear of leaving my side. I have seen you smiling and laughing and worried and in tears. Each new facet of Juno Steel is lovelier than the last. I can only assume that God must have looked favorably upon me so that I might bear witness to all of them. 

While it broke my heart that you should leave, even for less than a half hour, I know you will come back before I barely have time to miss you. I know you’ll always come back to me. I would do the same for you, even if the entire world was calling me elsewhere. I trust you. That may just be the highest honor a person such as myself can give. 

I will likely be asleep upon your return. I hate to have wasted so much of our time together in that state, though I’m afraid my scars won’t heal themselves. However, I must admit that those sweet little things you whisper into my hair when you think I’m asleep are perhaps the happiest moments I have ever lived through. 

I love you. I am in love with you. For these reasons, I believe myself to be the luckiest man alive.

I look forward to waking at your side. 

Yours, and yours alone,

Peter Nureyev

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're ready to get BIG SAD!! Yeehaw indeed
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for reading!! Make sure to smash that kudos button and don't forget to stay awesome!! Comment or I'll come play bagpipes in your kitchen.
> 
> My tumblr is @hopeless-eccentric if you want to come yell at me for this!!
> 
> Note: Tomorrow's a pretty heavy chapter. Rating may change. Stay safe, drink water, and check the content warnings


	3. Letters Burned and Unsent (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets really heavy, I'm not going to lie. Definitely make sure to check the content warnings, even if you don't usually do so. This one deals with some pretty tough mental health situations. Make sure to drink water and take care of yourselves. <3
> 
> The note regarding attempted suicide will have bolded asterisks before and after it. If you don't want to read it, there is no shame in skipping it. I love you all, and want you guys to do what's best for you <#
> 
> Content warnings: alcohol abuse, political corruption, mentions of murder, attempted suicide, betrayal, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, mentions of injury, mentions of surgery, mentions of assassination, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Honey, 

I’m not going to send this. Hell, it would probably be better if I burned the letter. I’m not going to put your name on it, just in case I change my mind and want to hang onto it. 

I can’t justify leaving you. I could try to explain, but that wouldn’t make it any better. And I’m tired. And I’m definitely a little drunk. Nothing I say is going to come out the way I want it to, so I might as well throw eloquence to the wind. 

I’m not writing this to pretend I was right. I’m just trying to get all these thoughts down and pretend I still have somebody to hear them. You know me. Same damn Juno Steel who left you in that hotel room. I’m in the business of burning bridges. 

I loved you. I love you. You deserved so much better than that. 

What did I even write you about? Work? How the hell did you enjoy letters about work? I couldn’t wax poetic if I wanted to. You handed me the sun, moon, and stars on a piece of paper and I don’t think I ever returned the favor. That should probably be the least of my regrets but God, I don’t see why you ever wasted that much paper on me. 

I still have your letters. They’re all gorgeous. Hurt like hell to read, so I do it a few times a day. 

I didn’t deserve someone like you. I knew the whole goddamn time it wasn’t going to work and I still hung on long enough to let you fall in love with me. 

Long enough that I fell in love with you too. 

We’re idiots. 

I’m going to finish this glass and burn this letter. 

Signed, 

Juno. 

  
  
  


To the esteemed Sheriff Juno Steel, 

You bastard. 

If I had more dignity, I wouldn’t be writing this letter. You left without a note. I might as well do the same. You know? I don’t think I’ll even send it. For all you know, I might be dead. You knew damn well I could barely walk on my own and yet, you had the nerve to leave me as I was. I could have torn my stitches and bled out, thanks to you. That might have even been kinder than having to cope with your betrayal. I suppose you wouldn’t particularly care, would you? 

You have no need to know where I am or what I’m doing, though you might have guessed I am far away from Hyperion. I suppose if you care so much about the safety of your town, I should begin to tread more lightly when traveling the area. Perhaps I’ve lost a safe haven in more ways than one. 

Writing these letters used to be the highlight of my week. Did you know that? Did you know that I would take a break from being a filthy low-down criminal for long enough to smile at a piece of paper for half an hour and pretend it held a candle to your presence? 

That night, you held me and promised me the world on a silver platter. We would run away together and chase the future for as long as we could. You told me I would wake to a world of a thousand tomorrows and an endless horizon at your side, and instead, I woke to an empty hotel room. 

If I had known you longer, I fear your actions might have killed me. 

I don’t believe I’ll send this. You don’t deserve the dignity of a second chance. 

Signed, 

You know. 

  
  
  


Nureyev, 

This one’s going in the fire too, so don’t get excited. Wasting paper is the closest thing I’ve got to a healthy coping mechanism. 

God, I’m sorry. 

We could’ve had something. We did have something. I don’t think I’ve ever been much happier than when I was with you and starting to see you get better. I miss waking up next to you, even if I only ever did it for a few weeks. I miss remembering exactly what you smell like or how your hair sits when you’ve been asleep or how clingy you get when you’re tired. 

I don’t feel like I’ve got a right to miss any of it. It’s like throwing a priceless heirloom in the garbage and having the nerve to miss the piece instead of blaming the jackass who dumped it. 

I don’t think I ever deserved to see any of those things I talked about. Those are treasures that should be reserved for better people. Maybe someday you’ll find somebody who’ll hold you like they’ll never let you go and actually mean it. You deserve that much. 

I killed a woman today. It was self defense, and she’d already killed six people. Didn’t make me feel much better. She had a kid. A sick one, too. 

Mayor O’Flaherty swooped in and paid for the kid’s surgery, but the whole thing still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. A kid shouldn’t have to lose a parent to get medical care, especially when O’Flaherty could’ve paid the whole damn time. 

A kid shouldn’t have to lose a parent at all. 

I’ve been working with O’Flaherty lately. With. Not for. That’s what I’ve gotta tell myself to keep myself sane. I’m just trying to get a little closer and see what I can figure out. 

I’m just scared I’m doing it all wrong. I might have killed that woman for nothing, or worse, something awful that’s too big for me to see. 

This was so much easier before I fucked it all up. 

Yours, 

Juno

  
  
  


To whom it may concern, 

I can’t believe I’ve stooped low enough to consider writing to you again, but here I am, pen in hand and unsure whether I want to grovel at your feet or eviscerate you entirely. 

I’ll admit I am in pain. There’s no use in dishonesty, and regardless, I have had enough of the lies between the two of us for a lifetime. 

I left Hyperion the morning after you left me. The sun had even yet to rise. From there, it was a short journey to Brahma. I’ve been staying here for a few weeks now, waiting for the damn wound I suffered on your behalf to heal. I rode too fast and it tore open once again during my journey. My father’s first aid was not anywhere near comparable to the help of Hyperion’s doctor, but I managed to survive. 

Unfortunately, I’ve ruined a rather nice shirt of mine. Just another damn thing you had to take from me. You make quite the thief for a staunch lawman. 

It’s still bleeding as I write, but my bandages are a little tighter now. I’ll be fine. It’s not the worst you’ve ever done to me. I suppose it was about time I earned a non-surgical scar of my own, given that I spent all that time complimenting yours. 

It’s a pity I must bear this mark of you forever. 

My father had some choice words about our relationship when I finally conceded and told him. I left out certain specifics, lest his vengeful streak emerge. You are very easy to find, and as much as I should, I don’t have it in me to wish you ill, let alone dead. 

He told me to burn the letters, though I don’t think I have it in me to do that either. I don’t think I’ll send this one though. 

Signed, 

P.N.

  
  
  


Nureyev, 

I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this. I want to trust O’Flaherty. There’s a part of me that does. There’s a part of me that wants to think there are good politicians and law enforcement who act in the name of the public good, and maybe, just maybe, I’ve got it all right. 

I’m pretty sure that’s all just wishful thinking. 

I think he might have had the last mayor killed. I think he might have a boatload of awful things planned. This isn’t gonna sound plausible at all, but I’ve got this awful hunch he might have something to do with what happened to my brother. So much just isn’t right here. 

That’s about it for breaking news. As for my ongoing problems, the other night, I dreamt you came back. Said some pretty awful stuff, most of it I agreed with. I didn’t really care. I just missed seeing your face. 

I also dreamt you kissed me. I really, really missed that too. 

Haven’t had a lot of nice dreams lately, so I didn’t exactly mind a bittersweet one. 

I hope you’re okay, wherever you are. I hope that wound’s finally healed up. You don’t deserve any more pain from me. It’s probably gonna leave some kind of mark for a while, which is unfortunate. I’d give you my medical advice if I knew where the hell to find you. 

That’s probably for the best. I know you visit Brahma sometimes, but I’d hate to run into your dad. He probably wants me skinned alive. 

To be fair, I kinda want me skinned alive too. 

I don’t even know what I’d do if I ran into you. I’m a little past begging for forgiveness. Hell, if I were you, I’d probably shoot me on sight. I made my choice months ago, and at the end of the day, I picked Hyperion. It’s my job to live with that now. 

This is another one for the fire. The cold hasn’t worn away yet, even though it’s supposed to be spring by now. I’m not going to have another body in the bed with me any time soon, so I guess I could do with a little more kindling. 

Yours,

Juno

  
  
  


My dear, 

Perhaps this is the wine talking, or perhaps it is merely giving voice to parts of myself I usually keep at bay. 

There is blood on your hands. You have shattered something fundamental within me and I doubt it will ever live again. 

And yet, I still love you. 

I don’t know which is crueler. 

P.N. 

  
  
  


Juno,

It would be so much easier if I hated you. I would prefer it if I had the capability to curse you and wish you ill. Perhaps it is distance that makes my memories of you grow fonder, for even when I want to ride into Hyperion and duel you myself, there is a part of me that remembers the way you held me that night and I could not raise a hand against you in anger if I wanted to. 

I have to admit that I reach for the Hyperion Tribunal whenever I see it at general stores, and if I run into anyone with friends or family living there, I pretend to be a reporter curious about the state of the city and its law enforcement. I haven’t heard much, but I've been doing my best to keep an eye on you. I saw that a lawman killed a woman in self defense recently. I pray that didn’t have to be you. 

I saw your photo in the newspaper with the mayor a few weeks ago. I’m not going to sugarcoat things and pretend you looked well, though that might have just been the camera angle. You looked more tired than I’ve ever seen you, even after a days-long vigil while my bullet wound began to heal, or even when you were so feverish you could hardly walk. You were beautiful, nonetheless. I can’t pretend I didn’t miss that lovely scowl of yours. 

I remember you mentioning the mayor a few times in your letters. I can only wonder how that’s going for you. 

I try to tell myself that I hate you. You broke something in me when you left that night, and I refuse to forgive you for it. I don’t think I ever will. 

However, I must be honest with myself. In my life, I have disliked and hated a great many people. I have crossed the paths of many who have done me wrong in turn. Yet I do not check the newspapers every few days and scour the pages for any mentions of their names. 

It might be pathetic of me, but I think my greatest fear might be seeing your name on the back of the paper with all the widows and consumption-stricken miners. 

The last few weeks have been exhausting, I will not lie. Perhaps exhausting enough that I have gone out of my mind and begun to think kindly of you once more. 

I don’t believe I’ll send this letter either. 

Peter Nureyev

***** ***** *****

An open letter to whoever ends up going through my coat pockets: 

Print this if you can. Get the word out. I can’t fix a damn thing, but maybe someone else can. 

I know you won’t. Maybe you can’t. But if one of you has a shred of decency left, investigate the goddamn mayor. At least try to grant a lady his dying wish. 

Sheriff Steel

  
  
  


Honey, 

I fucked up. Bad. I don’t know if my liver’s gonna make it through this letter. 

Hell, I don’t know if I’m gonna make it through this letter. At this rate, probably not. 

Whenever someone finds me, mail the letter to the address in Brahma on the back of the page. Make sure it’s given to the homeowner’s son.

Here goes nothing. 

Honey, I’m sorry for all the things I did wrong. I’m also sorry I’m adding another to the list. 

Whatever you take away from this, know it wasn’t your fault. This is the end of a long, long road. We just happened to walk on it together for a little while. 

It’ll be over soon. 

Love, 

*** * ***

To the Sheriff of Hyperion, 

I will preface this by saying I am not a citizen. I have, however, kept up with an old mutual friend in Hyperion who informed me of your state. 

I’m glad to hear you’re alive and I wish you a speedy recovery. I’ll admit I have written you several letters over the last year. This is the first I’ve sent. 

Enjoy the bouquet. I know roses and dahlias were always your favorite. 

Signed, 

X

P.S. I’m sorry to say I missed your birthday. Some chocolate should be arriving by train to remedy that sometime this week. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all. I promise things are going to immediately look up. Take care of yourselves, drink water, and stay safe out there. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Make sure to smash that kudos button, leave a comment down below, and don't forget to stay awesome!!
> 
> Yell at me on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric !!


	4. Letters Burned and Unsent (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this one's much lighter! This chapter ends immediately before the beginning of Juno Steel and the Bandit of Brahma, and next chapter will pick up a short time afterwards. 
> 
> Content warnings for mentions of past alcohol abuse, blood, gun violence, dueling, political/police corruption, vague references to a suicide attempt, surgery, injury, vaguely referenced eye trauma

Nureyev,

Thank God I didn’t let them send the last one. Nearly ripped it trying to get it out of the hands of the poor son of a bitch who found me. Nobody should have to read something like that, especially when it’s addressed to them. 

I suppose I should thank you for the flowers. It was a bit of a low blow, I’ll admit that. I’ll also admit I probably deserved it. And you definitely deserve to get a low blow or two in on me. It’s just nice to know someone’s thinking about me. 

Just in case you thought my self-destructive tendencies were getting any better, I’m dueling the mayor today at noon. Believe it or not, I’m not worried, and not even in a ‘I’m okay with dying’ way. He’s too proud to cheat and I’m too angry to let him kill me. 

Even if I just took a hell of a beating, I’m just as fast a draw as I was when you last saw me. 

I spent a while up in Cerberus to clear my head. Took a leaf out of your book and abetted the sale of some stolen goods. Turns out crime’s as good for my mental health as anything, though that could’ve just been setting down the damn bottle and getting the hell out of Hyperion for a weekend. 

I got a job offer too. I think that’s what really turned it around. Apparently crime legend Buddy Aurinko needed a lady to clean glasses and look sad at her saloon and maybe, just maybe, help her rob the occasional train on weekends. 

I’m going to tie up one last loose end, resign, and skip town. I can’t fix this place. I nearly died trying. I guess if you can’t make the world a better place by following the law, you might as well break it. Can’t believe I courted you for months and I never figured that out for myself. 

Hurting myself and pretending it’s for the greater good doesn’t make me a good person. It’s about time I realized that. So I’m turning in the star and leaving as soon as I put a bullet between Mayor O’Flaherty’s eyes. 

I haven’t written in a while. I was worried it might be related to some of the worse things going on, but once I quit enough of my unhealthy coping mechanisms to take a good look at them, I figured it cleared my head more than anything else. So I’m back to my paper and pen. 

I don’t think I’ll burn this one. I’ll just keep it in my coat pocket. You’re my good luck charm, even if you can’t be here. 

Love, 

Former Sheriff Juno Steel 

P.S. The chocolate is gone. 

Juno, 

I’ve changed my mind. I spent far too long insisting I never wanted to see you again. My new hope is to see you again exactly once so I might hit you over the head with a brick. 

I had half a mind to ride into town and force you to take a month off when Valles Vicky wrote to me about what happened, though I’m sure my gift was some form of comfort in my stead. What form of comfort, I’m unsure. I did my best to leave my note open to interpretation. 

I was worried sick about you. I’m supposed to be in Brahma at the moment, but I’ve forced my father to stall whatever plans he has for a few weeks so I might be closer to Hyperion and receive any news of your condition faster. I lied about my reason, of course. I said I had old business to take care of. 

I hate that we have gone from passionate lovers to old business.

On evenings when I’m feeling particularly lonely and idiotic, I almost consider sending one of my many letters. I won’t deny that I might even be dull enough to take you back, if the opportunity arose. I know well it’s pathetic of me, but at least this evidence of my vulnerability will never see the light of day. 

Juno, when I heard about your condition, I didn’t sleep for at least two days, though I’ll admit my count grew unreliable after thirty six hours. That’s not for lack of trying, of course, but it seemed you had fended off my rest just as you had when I could not sleep for the excitement of meeting you again. The tenants staying a floor below walked upstairs to yell at me for pacing at an odd hour, so I was forced to lie and say my wife was in labor. 

You idiot. You absolute idiot. You could have died, though I assume that was the point. 

I can’t force myself to hate you just so I can ignore how much you still mean to me. I’ve tried, and it hasn’t yet worked. I cared about you the day you left me, and I care about you now, despite my better interests. I’ll admit to openly weeping when I read you were in stable condition. 

I think I might still be in love with you, and that might be the most insidious thing you’ve ever done to me. I am cursed to still long for you. 

Please take care of yourself. I want to see you again someday. I don’t think I could bear it if our reunion was at your funeral. I’m not too proud to beg for your life, even if the hands trying to tear it from this world are your own. 

I hate to admit it, but I need you to be alright. 

I don’t think you need this letter adding to your stress. I wish there were a more impersonal way to tell you that you deserve to be alive. 

Love, 

Peter Nureyev

Nureyev, 

Goddammit. Why is it that I always write to you when I feel like I’m about to die? 

I’m fine, but I finally have so little going on that I actually have to pay attention to my injuries. And now I can’t drink it away anymore, so I’m stuck waiting for my eye socket to decide it likes me again. And let me tell you. It doesn’t like me at all right now. 

I’ve spent a lot of my life thinking I’d wind up with a hole between the eyes, but never in one. 

This is my first letter with one eye, so there’s a milestone. It really isn’t much different than writing with two eyes. Just a little bit further to the left than usual. 

Don’t worry too much. It stopped bleeding a few days ago and the doctor says I managed to dodge an infection. Believe it or not, it looks like I got pretty lucky for once. 

Turns out the deputies weren’t too happy when I shot the mayor between the eyes. Even if it was a fair duel and he agreed to the terms, they were really just looking for a reason to go after me. Thought they killed me, but the bullet stopped before it got to my brain. 

One of the people I helped in Cerberus a few days ago found me and took me to a pro-bono doctor who took the eye out before it could kill me. 

I don’t get a lot of second chances, so this one meant a lot. 

I don’t know how much longer I’ll keep writing these. I don’t really feel like I need to anymore. I’ve got a good job and a few people you might call friends, and I’ve successfully skipped town and retired. 

Things are pretty good. I don’t have a lot left to get off my mind, even if you’ll always be in the back of it. I think I’ve just learned to live with the guilt by now. 

I just wish you could be part of my happy ending. I understand you probably have no desire to be, but I can’t stand that there’s just one more thread I never got the chance to tie up. I hope you’re happy, wherever you are. Even if it’s not with me. 

I’ll always regret that yours was a bridge I burned, and I’ll always regret the way I burned it. You deserved better than that, and I’m sorry. 

If I ever find out where you are, I might even send this. Just as an olive branch. 

With love, 

Retired Sheriff Juno Steel

P.S. I just like saying it. 

Juno, 

I saw your obituary today. 

I’ve elected not to believe a word of it. I don’t know what I would do if a word of it was true. 

All that comforts me is the type of the obituary itself. It had to be under fifty words. No funerary proceedings were listed, nor a cause of death. It could have very easily been faked, and as such, I’m choosing to believe it so. It simply cannot be true. 

When I last saw you, everything about you spoke of life. Every twitch of your fingers or crease of your brow seemed painted by some master artist, like you had been brought to life from a canvas instead of being born. 

That kind of person doesn’t die, not when the world was sculpted just to hold a place for them. 

If you are, by some chance, gone, I just wish they would print the funerary proceedings. Even if it's blown to smithereens, I want to see your face one last time. Maybe I’ll lie and say we were engaged, just so I might hold that cold and lifeless hand and pretend it might ever hold mine back. 

I think it would break me to see you like that, but if it meant I got to see you one more time, I am willing to be broken. 

Juno, my love, I am terrified. 

My father has requested my company and what he referred to as a “big favor,” and I fear whatever it is to be terrible. 

I do not think I can bear another awful thing. If this world is now truly without you, it is terrible enough already. 

I wish I had sent but one of these letters so you knew you were loved when you died. You deserved that much. 

Love, 

Peter Nureyev

Juno, 

If you ever see this letter, I’m sorry. The blood on the page isn’t mine. I’m leaving for Hyperion. If you’re still alive, it’s the only place I know you might be. 

Please still be alive. 

Love, 

Nureyev

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew!! I didn't mean to have both of them murder a greasy old man in this one but parallels I suppose!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Make sure to smash that kudos button, leave a comment down below, and don't forget to stay awesome!
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric


	5. Scattered Notes and Letters (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place some time after Juno Steel and the Bandit of Brahma!! Pretty minimal content warnings. Things are looking up my friends!!
> 
> Content warnings for mentions of minor injuries (burnt fingers from cooking), mentions of theft, mentions of nightmares

Nureyev,

I’m not going to be beside you when you wake up. I won’t be gone long, and I swear on my life I’m coming back. Even if I’m going on a walk, I’ll be within shouting distance the whole time. I’m cracking the window just in case. Just because I’ve hung up the star doesn’t mean my days as sheriff aren’t still ruining my sleep. 

I didn’t want to wake you up. You look way too peaceful for that. And you’re cute when you’re tired. 

It’s nice waking up beside you again, especially now that you’re not high off your ass on pain medication. I like your hair long like this. There’s a lot more of it to play with. I know you’ve talked about cutting it though, so don’t let my opinion get in the way of that. I think you look nice whatever you do with it. 

You’re so goddamn handsome when you’re relaxed. I mean, you’re always handsome. I’ve just got a passing moment to appreciate it now. The morning light from the window suits you well. It’s like looking at a painting. If I’m being honest, I think you’d look gorgeous drooling on the pillow and snoring, but maybe I’m a little biased. 

I’m looking forward to thousands and thousands of mornings with you. Maybe after a little while, I’ll start waking up in your arms and I can appreciate that handsome face up close. 

My brain’s holding me back from doing that for now, but I don’t think it’ll hold on forever. 

I’ll have breakfast ready when you wake up, so if you smell bacon, don’t sleep in. 

Love, 

Juno

P.S. I’ve missed writing you love letters. I think I’ll have to start leaving you more notes.

My dearest, Juno, 

What a pity you must be out of town this weekend, though I suppose your aunt’s funeral isn’t going to attend itself. 

The little house we built is empty without you, my love. My tiny patch of paradise is incomplete. Your smile taunts me from every daguerreotype, mocking the fact that I mourn even your short absences. You are much more lovely in the flesh than in any picture frame or locket I might keep, however. I never considered myself much the locket type until I had a picture to put in one. 

I managed to cook for myself without burning too much of the house. I may have seared a few of my fingers, but I think they will heal in time. You can kiss and make over my wounds once you return home again. 

I missed writing love letters to you, though I’ll admit I’m at a slight loss as for what to say. I spent so many words on my crimes and my yearning. Now I seldom have to yearn for you, and you accompany me on all my heists, thanks to Madame Aurinko’s insistence on teamwork. I certainly can’t disagree with her choices of a team. You make quite the handsome outlaw, my love. 

I don’t have anything to yearn for, so I might as well attempt to express my felicity. 

It is so much more difficult to put heady joy into words than it is bitter sorrow. 

There are simultaneously too many and too few words to encompass what I feel for you, as well as my utter disbelief at my own luck. I hope it will suffice to say that every single day, I fall in love with you a little more. 

Yours, and yours alone, 

Peter Nureyev 

Nureyev, 

I’m not sure if this letter will make it home before I do, but I’ll tell you all these things in person if I have to. 

A day away from you feels like forever now that I’ve gotten used to having you all the time. I almost forgot how it felt to live without you for so long. Sometimes I can almost forget how lucky I am just to live with you at all. 

Every day is another day further from that year, and I thank God for that. 

I didn’t really realize I changed that much until I saw some old friends and family. I got a lot of compliments, though. 

Apparently, domestic life looks good on me, even if I do hold up rail cars on the side. I didn’t tell them that part. That also means you’re not just trying to schmooze me with all those compliments, you giant flirt. I suppose I’ll have to take some of your sweet nothings a little bit more seriously next time. 

I’m a little offended, but I think my family was more excited to hear about you than they were to hear about me. Turns out ‘retired sheriff’ isn’t very interesting, even if I enjoy it infinitely more than my last job. 

I spent the majority of dinner trying not to punch the fifth aunt who asked how tall you were again. I know you’re a private man, so I only went for the obvious when I described you. You’re tall, handsome, and you’ve got the prettiest damn smile this side of the Mississippi. 

A cousin or two wanted to see a picture of this roguish gentleman of mine and they just about fainted when I showed them my locket. Apparently, you’re really attractive or something. They asked if you had any siblings. I told them no, but they wouldn’t take that for an answer, so upon their insistence: do you have any siblings? 

I’m proud of you for cooking dinner, even if you did blow up the kitchen. I’ll kiss your fingers better when I get home. 

Love, 

Juno 

My love, 

I received your letter earlier today. I’ll answer most of it in person, but if you want physical evidence to give to your cousins, I’ll leave it here. 

I do not, unfortunately, have any siblings. 

As much as I want to answer the brunt of your letter over dinner tonight, there are some things I can’t help but put into words now. My dear, my darling, love of my life, what exactly did you mean when you said that “apparently” I’m attractive “or something?” I take this matter as a serious infringement upon my honor, you cad. I knew you were missing one eye, but I was unaware you had gone entirely blind. 

Perhaps a reminder may be in order. Do not treat that as a coming home present. This is as much a reminder for my dearest, densest, darling as it is a defense of my honor. 

As for business, I might not be home when you arrive. I’m picking up meat for dinner, and though I’ll be back within a half hour, I just thought I would leave you a note. 

Love, 

“Your roguish gentleman.” 

Nureyev, 

God, no. What the hell, Steel? Who starts a proposal with their partner’s last name? 

Ugh. 

My love, 

Nope.

My darling,

Yuck. No. 

Peter Nureyev, 

Better. 

It might be hasty to be asking a question like this after less than a year of really courting you once more, and even fewer months from moving in with you. However, I don’t believe my feelings for you and my surety in this relationship will wane with time. 

Breathe here. Don’t forget to breathe, Steel. 

You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re my happy beginning, middle, and end. You’re my ride off into the sunset, and I don’t think there’s another person I’d rather spend the rest of my life with. 

Will you marry me? 

Nope. Okay for a moment there, but cheesy as hell. No way he’s gonna say yes if you ask like that. 

Ugh. 

Note to self: keep your notes under a floorboard or something. 

To my better half, 

Happy anniversary. There’s not much space on this card, so I’ll wax poetic to you verbally. 

I just thought you would enjoy these flowers in particular. There is little I would rather do than buy a bouquet of roses for my Dahlia. 

Love, 

Peter Nureyev 

Nureyev, 

I know you’ve been meaning to get rid of your long hair for a while, so I bought you some of that pomade you used to wear for when it’s gone. I looked like an idiot smelling all the different tins to make sure I got the type you like. I don’t think I could forget that scent if I wanted to. 

Love, 

Juno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about damn time these fuckers got their lives together. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Make sure to smash that kudos button and comment or I'll date your mom
> 
> Yell at me on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric!!!


	6. Scattered Notes and Letters (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming along for the ride y'all. Here's that happy ending I promised!!
> 
> Content warning for past suicidal ideation

My dearest Juno, 

No, no, I don’t think that will do at all. 

My love, 

Better, though I’ll have to consider all my options first. I might as well use it on my first draft. 

My love, 

There are a thousand ways to tell you that I love you. I hope that someday, we will have been together long enough that I might be able to tell you every single one. 

For now, I hope to show my love for you through an action and a gesture: will you make me the happiest man alive and spend the rest of your life with me? 

Not my favorite. I’ll have to compile and compare several drafts before I decide on what to say or when to ask. 

Peter Nureyev, 

Shit, that’ll only work if we’re in private. He seems like he might like grand gestures, but I don’t think he’d want me going around yelling his name. That’s about the quickest way to get a no. 

Ugh. Maybe I won’t say any name at the top when I actually ask. I’ll just write one for my notes. 

Peter Nureyev, 

I think I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you when I saw you for the second time. I didn’t realize what backflips you made my heart do until I saw you across Main Street and you took me out into the desert and kissed me like you’d never see me again. I wanted that, in a perfect world, to be my life every damn day. 

It’s been a long road to asking you to spend the rest of your life with me, but I suppose there’s no time like the present. 

Will you marry me?

Not bad. Not my favorite yet, but not bad. I’ll compare drafts. 

Nureyev, 

I want to talk to you in person about this, but I thought a letter in response would fit the situation. Besides, you know me and words. They’re hard to write and even harder to say, but I’ll do my best. 

I found your letters from that year we spent apart. I know you didn’t send them for a reason, and I’m sorry I pried. I thought I misplaced my own little stack of letters, or that you might have found them, and I didn’t realize they weren’t mine until I was a few paragraphs in. I’ll admit, I don’t remember most of the letters I wrote you and never sent. 

I’m so sorry you had to hurt like that. I’m so sorry your stitches tore when you left for Brahma and that you had to learn about everything that happened second hand. I almost wish you could’ve seen what I was writing too, but I burned most of what I put down on paper. Mostly drunken apologies and a couple veiled cries for help. Not much better. Definitely messier though. 

You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, and I love you for that. I still think it’s a miracle you ever gave me another shot. I don’t know if I could’ve done the same, had I been in your shoes. 

I didn’t know they printed my obituary. If I had to guess, that was the deputies doing their best to cover up that they shot the former sheriff in the head and left him for dead in the desert. I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone, especially right before the incident in Brahma. I wish I could’ve been there for you through it all. 

I think it’s only fair to show you what notes I’ve still got laying around. There’s one I don’t think it’s right to show you, but I will if you insist. I just keep it around as a reminder of places I don’t ever want to go again. 

Words can’t describe how lucky I am to have someone like you in my life, or how lucky I am for all of that to be over. 

Yours, 

Juno

My darling,

I know it has been less than two years since we began courting once more, and though we have only spent a few happy months living as a couple, I cannot contain what I know must be the inevitable conclusion of this great experiment we share. 

I have written you many letters in my time, from those I sent to those I held on to. It was always far easier to write my misery than it was to write my joy, let alone speak it. If I stumble now, it is entirely your fault. 

Being in love with you has sapped me for words and thoughts and coherency. I have lived a life of blessings if only because I get to wake up with you in my arms and I in yours. 

This is a very long way of asking a very simple question, of course. 

Will you, Juno Steel, marry me? 

Hm. I don’t know if I’ll ever be satisfied with my planning. 

Peter Nureyev, 

I just want to be married to you. Why does asking have to be the hardest part? 

Ugh. This one goes at the bottom of the notes pile. 

Nureyev, 

You’re asleep right now. You look pretty knocked out, too, so I don’t think my writing will wake you up. 

I think one of the most intimate things you can do is sleep next to another person. Not even sleeping with them. Just being comfortable and feeling safe next to somebody else. Going to bed and knowing you’re going to wake up in the arms of someone you love is about the best feeling in the world in my book. 

It’s like coming home again and again every damn morning. Sometimes I have to pinch myself just to make sure it’s real. There’s always a little terrified part of me that thinks I’m back in my old office way after hours and just having a really nice dream, but I don’t think I could come up with something this nice if I wanted to. 

Every damn day feels like the best of my entire life. Even if it’s just the two of us on opposite sides of a room reading two different books, the moment’s just better because you’re there at all. Every night in bed, even if you stay up for a little while to read the bits of the paper you missed that morning once I’ve blown the candle on my side out. We might not even be touching, but I’ll always feel better knowing you’re right there next to me. And when you blow your candle out and wrap an arm around me, I wish you could know it’s the happiest I’ve ever felt. 

I always said I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, even when I didn’t think I deserved it. There’s still a part of me that thinks I don’t deserve any of this. It’s quieter now. What I’m saying is that I guess I never realized I was living through the ‘rest of my life with you’ until recently. We might not be married or engaged or anything (yet), but there’s a million mornings and an endless horizon before us. 

I want to be married to you so bad it hurts. I’ve got to drive myself up the wall planning a hundred different proposals before I can even consider asking you, but God, I want that happy ending. Kinda weird to think we’re already sort of living it. 

I’d like to wear a dress, but if you really wanted an excuse to finally see me in that suit, I might just have to go digging through the closet for it. I really want to see what you look like all cleaned up. I’d probably faint if I did. You look so damn nice all the time. 

Maybe we can have a little wedding at that chapel up the road, or if you’d prefer to just kiss me at the courthouse and sign our marriage into law, I don’t think I’d mind that either. We’d just invite the Big Guy and Buddy and Vespa and Rita, and maybe I’ll write a few letters to a couple of old friends from home. Probably not a lot of family, especially not with the length of the ride. And I don’t know how much you’d want to meet them all. 

I don’t need the whole world to know I’m yours. My whole world is asleep right next to me, and I’m pretty sure that by now, he knows it. 

This isn’t even an attempted proposal. I just want to keep this moment forever, like a ship in a bottle. 

If you ever see this, sorry for the schmaltz. 

Yours, 

Juno

My love, 

I read the one note you advised me against reading. 

I’ll admit, you were likely right to do so. I waited to send this letter until a heist two towns over gave me an excuse to write to you like this. It felt only right to respond to that note in the same format. However, don’t take that to mean we will not discuss this further at a later date. Letters should supplement difficult conversations, not replace them. 

Juno, my darling, you are loved by many. You are more than the sum of your mistakes. You are a valuable individual, and I am among many who have lived better lives for knowing you. 

I am lucky to live in a world that also holds you within it. It is a daily blessing that you are alive and well, even with injury keeping you home while we enact this heist. Without you, I would have nobody to use me as a pillow and then complain about how bony my collarbone is, rather than just admitting to liking the contact. I would have no one to stand behind me when I try to cook and distract, rather than instruct me. I would be able to look at sunsets, for there wouldn’t be something lovelier for me to look at instead. 

How I wish I could have said all these things when I sent you the flowers, even if that gift meant all those thoughts I could not put into words. I meant all of that then as much as I mean it now. 

I am so proud of you for surviving, my love. 

I am lucky to be in the courtship of the most wonderful lady in the world. 

Love, 

Peter Nureyev 

P.S. We are leaving already and will be home before the night is over. I might not have time to discuss all of this with you when I get home, for you will likely be asleep by then. I have not missed you this much in years. I can only hope that injury of yours isn’t causing you too much trouble. Know I will dote over both you and that new scar of yours relentlessly upon my return. 

Honey, 

It’s been over two years since we found each other again, and if I’m being completely honest, it’s been the happiest two years of my entire life. I never thought I’d be the kind of guy to court again, let alone live with another person, but I think the best kind of people make you surprise yourself. 

Words are hard, and honestly, you make them a lot harder. There are a million ways to say the thing I want to tell you, and only one of them is coming to mind. 

I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. 

Will you marry me? 

Better. Definitely better. 

Juno, 

You left the floorboard open while bathing, and I couldn’t resist. Unfortunately, it seems that I walked in on my own pleasant surprise. 

If it’s any consolation, beneath this note is a small collection of drafts of my own. It’s very difficult to keep secrets from you, so I decided it was better if you knew the whole truth. I’ve been drafting my own proposals for almost as long as you have. 

Take that as a yes, my love, but don’t let my intrusion infringe on any plans you may or may not have been making. 

Love, 

Peter Nureyev

P.S. I would have said yes to any and all of the options you presented in your notes. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and whatever words you put before asking me to do so will not change that fact. 

Nureyev, 

I know we’re not supposed to see each other until the ceremony today, so I thought I’d leave you a note. 

Most of what I want to say is in my vows, so I’m not gonna spoil anything. Believe it or not, I’m going to hold back all the schmaltz until then.

I know you’re going to spend three hours on makeup, and I couldn’t stop you if I wanted to. I also know you’re going to look amazing regardless. Honestly, you could show up to the altar in a potato sack and you’d still look handsome as all hell. 

I love you so much. I can’t wait for day one of this big new future I’m starting with you. 

Your soon-to-be wife,

Juno Steel-Nureyev

P.S. I know I’m not ever going to publicly use the last part. I just like saying it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super soft thank you all so much for reading!! Thanks for coming along for the ride :D
> 
> Anyhoo, make sure to smash that kudos button, leave a comment down below, and don't forget to stay awesome gamers

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Comment or I'll eat your kneecaps
> 
> For future reference, this is a three part fic that I will be posting in six chapters. Each chapter will be approximately one half of each larger 'part.' This was to make things a little more accessible. I'll post each chapter on a daily schedule. 
> 
> If you want to yell at me on tumblr, find me @hopeless-eccentric !!
> 
> Stay awesome gamers

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Do Not Forsake Me, Oh My Darling [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28376724) by [ellevenstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellevenstar/pseuds/ellevenstar), [kopescetic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kopescetic/pseuds/kopescetic)




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